


Steps In Time

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Cedric Diggory Lives, F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-11
Updated: 2008-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: He hasn’t seen her in a few years—three, to be precise—and they never had the chance to say goodbye, or farewell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** EWE, AU-ish (Cedric survived the Tournament, though not entirely unscathed), some mild language, a not very flattering characterisation of Cho Chang.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine.

From across the room, Cedric watches her silently.   
  
He hasn’t seen her in a few years—three, to be precise—and they never had the chance to say goodbye, or farewell.   
  
He still hadn’t regained consciousness by the time she was set to return to France, and given how the two of them hadn’t exactly become friends—to be frank about it, they were barely acquaintances—his state of health was no reason for her to linger after the Tournament.   
  
God, that blasted Tournament…. He grits his teeth whenever he looks back on it, and considers the many things it deprived him of.   
  
Of course, the optimist inside him reasons, it could have been far worse, still. He might have died, or left completely crippled, but nonetheless…   
  
He finally woke up on a hot Wednesday afternoon in August with a sore back and limbs that felt like they belonged to someone sixty years his senior.   
  
Extensive testing followed. Over the course of two uncertain weeks, he was repeatedly prodded and poked at, and made to drink countless multi-coloured potions, all of which had a strange, unsavoury taste.   
  
When it was over at long last, the Healers told him there was permanent damage to his spine.   
  
“Wizarding Medicine is pretty advanced nowadays, Mister Diggory, but sadly we cannot perform miracles. There are only so many things  _Skele-Gro_ can fix.”   
  
The good news was that Cedric would be able to resume his previous life and continue his studies as planned. He’d be able to walk, too, and run, and fly a broom, provided he didn’t overdo it.   
  
The bad news? He’d never play Quidditch again; at least not in a competitive capacity. It would put too much strain on his skeleton and might worsen his injuries to the point where they would become seriously debilitating.   
  
The verdict was a terrible blow to him, and it affected Cho Chang, his then-girlfriend, even more. All her dreams of travelling the world with her boyfriend, as romantic partners as well as teammates, had been shattered.   
  
She screamed outrage and blue murder to anyone who would hear, and to Cedric’s astonishment, she also blamed Harry Potter for what had happened; Harry Potter, the very person who had saved his life, stopped that ratty bastard right in the nick of time, just as he was about to….   
  
Cedric’s relationship with Cho ended soon after that. Last he heard, she’s dating Marcus Flint. He supposes those two deserve each other.   
  
A bright, carefree laugh at the other side of the room breaks through his bitter musings and makes him look up.   
  
_Fleur._   
  
She had a wonderful laugh back then, too, though he rarely heard it. She wasn’t happy at Hogwarts. She didn’t feel welcome and couldn’t seem to make the castle her home, if only for a few weeks.   
  
Or maybe, in hindsight, there was more to it than that. Perhaps she sensed it beforehand, a threatening and decidedly lethal presence looming over them all. They do say people with Veela blood are more sensitive and perceptive, don’t they?   
  
In the year following the Tournament, Cedric often considered writing her. He had no actual letter in mind, nothing concrete he wanted to say or ask. He just wanted to get in touch.   
  
Nothing ever came of his pondering, however.   
  
He didn’t have her address, for one thing, and when he discreetly asked around, it seemed no one else did, either. It was as though Fleur Delacour and her little sister had fallen off the face of the earth; or they simply didn’t want to be found. It was odd and also somewhat worrying.   
  
Cedric looks at her now, standing there, a vision in blue, and he is instantly reminded of the good times, scarce though they were.   
  
The weeks leading up to the Yule Ball, although quite stressful for him, were also mildly entertaining.   
  
He still grins whenever he thinks of one of the bets Fred and George Weasley had going; the one concerning who would get to take the Beauxbatons champion to the Ball.   
  
And true enough, the wager was a valid one.   
  
One student after the other, many of them dorky and overeager, approached Fleur.   
  
Some of them, she let down kindly. Towards some others—like Ron Weasley who couldn’t have been farther out of his league if he’d tried—she was more brusque, but regardless of how she declined their offers, the poor buggers all looked positively gutted.   
  
Cedric took Cho, of course.   
  
Unbeknownst to him then, it would be the last time they’d have fun together, even though his gaze kept drifting to the other side of the room, to the spot where Fleur was dancing with Roger Davies, the lucky sod whose offer she’d accepted in the end.   
  
Since his break-up with Cho, Cedric hasn’t been involved with anyone else. He didn’t have the time, or the will, and for some reason—one that rather puzzled him when he stopped to think about it, for let’s be fair, he scarcely knew the girl—he kept comparing every woman he met to Fleur, as well, and not a single one of them ever measured up.   
  
These days, he works for the Ministry, as his father hoped he might.   
  
Cedric isn’t entirely happy with his career. It involves lots of boring paperwork and sitting around in a dusty office when he’d rather be outdoors.   
  
Still, this was one of the more appealing alternatives when professional Quidditch stopped being an option.   
  
Besides, the job pays quite well, and that counts for something, too. More money allows for more travel. Cedric loves to travel. He plans to visit Italy again, and perhaps Greece, too, once he’s certain it’s safe to leave Britain.   
  
He’s still not entirely certain why he came here today, to the Ministry’s first big post-war Christmas bash. He supposes he ought to mingle, though, rather than just remain standing there as though he’s socially inept.   
  
He briefly glances around the room, and wonders whom he could talk to.   
  
Everyone seems to want to speak with Harry Potter, or just gossip amongst themselves.   
  
“Did you see Ginny Weasley leave with Viktor Krum?” someone asks, the words just a little too loud to be considered polite. “They’d barely even got here.”   
  
Cedric smiles. Obviously, he saw them leave. Everyone did. But it’s hardly relevant. Besides, Viktor’s a nice enough sort. Ginny could do worse. She almost did, if certain rumours are to be believed.   
  
“Cédric?”   
  
He looks up, surprised. She’s standing in front of him; Fleur Delacour. He feels his stomach flip. _Oh dear._ He’s a bit old for silly schoolboy crushes, isn’t he?   
  
No. Clearly not.   
  
“It ‘as been a long time,” she says, and flashes him a brilliant smile.   
  
“Too long,” he agrees, hoping with all his heart he sounds considerably more confident than he feels.   
  
“You are looking well,” she tells him.   
  
He grins, somewhat sheepishly. “So are you, Mademoiselle Delacour.”   
  
It’s an understatement if ever there were one. Fleur looks positively stunning, even more beautiful than he remembers, with none of the anxiety she displayed during the Tournament. She tried to hide it then, of course, but he still noticed it sometimes, possibly because he shared similar fears, himself.   
  
“Zank you,” she says, still smiling.   
  
He longs to say more—anything at all, really—before an odd silence sets in and she moves on to speak with someone else to put an end to the inevitable awkwardness. There are plenty of things he longs to ask her, too, about her life and what she’s been up to these last few years, but he doesn’t really know where to begin, or how.   
  
Fortunately, in that very moment, a slow, sweet song begins to play. He remembers it from the Yule Ball.   
  
He wanted to ask her to dance then, too—just one dance—but somehow the opportunity never presented itself.   
  
He’s not about to let the chance slip him by this time.   
  
“Would you care to dance?” he asks and holds out his arm.   
  
She nods. “Zat would be nice.” She smiles again, and as he leads her to the centre of the room, where the makeshift dance floor is, he can’t help but wonder if she ever thought of him, if only once, during all those years.   
  
Perhaps he’ll ask her later.


End file.
